Illicit Proposition
by Tatzelwurm
Summary: When Sherlock Holmes asks something unexpected of Dr. Spencer Reid, the night proceeds in ways neither of them expected. ShelockxSpencer, rated for good old smut, I warn you.


They were sitting on the sofa, space for at least two people between them. The room was quiet and chilly, the fireplace empty and dark. The only light came from the streetlamps shining through the half closed curtains, and occasionally the glow of light from a passing car passed over the walls and illuminated the faces of the two. Sherlock Holmes sat nearer the door, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his knuckles. His pale face was dark with shadow, and it was only his blue eyes shining from under his curled black hair that gave an indication of the cogs turning quickly in his brain. He was quiet, but only because he didn't quite know what to say in this situation, and he didn't want to say the wrong thing. So he gazed at the floor, at the walls, anywhere but at the man sitting beside him.

Dr. Spencer Reid was sitting stiffly at the other end of the sofa, back straight, hands between his knees. He was frowning in the direction of the window as if something very interesting was holding his attention there. He was trying to appear calm but his heart was beating at an accelerated rate and he kept swallowing, despite the lack o saliva in his mouth. When he had agreed to this, he hadn't thought it would be so awkward. He had read about this kind of thing many times, as had Sherlock, he was sure. It was all just science.

Scotland Yard had called in the help of the BAU after the English serial killer of the year, the mysterious "Lonely Heart Harvester" as the tabloids called him, had claimed his tenth victim. The London police force were becoming increasingly desperate for the case to be closed and it was Detective Inspector Lestrade who had introduced Dr. Reid to one Sherlock Holmes, assuming (correctly) that their intellects would bounce productively off each other. It is fair to assume that Lestrade had expected the advancements to be pertaining to the case. But it would probably surprise him, if he ever found out, that after six hours of diving into the depths of the serial killer's mystery, Sherlock did something very uncharacteristic. He had been watching but not listening as Spencer had darted back and forth in front of the white board, scribbling with a marker pen and muttering. Sherlock had then surprised himself, and no doubt Spencer, by silently standing from his chair, gliding over to the other man, and resting a hand on his wrist. Spencer had looked startled and instinctively leaned away from Sherlock, eyes darting around the other man's face. He didn't say anything or take his hand away though so Sherlock ventured onwards, saying in a quiet, calm voice, "I think it would be good if you came home with me."

Spencer still hadn't said anything but had given a small, almost imperceptible nod. They left Scotland Yard without talking and Sherlock had hailed a cab. They were silent as they were driven to 221B Baker St, and more silent still as they snuck in, intent on disturbing neither Mrs. Hudson, nor John Watson, who had left Scotland Yard a few hours earlier and as the living room and kitchen of the apartment were dark, was probably asleep in bed on the floor above.

Sherlock and Spencer calmly entered the living room. Sherlock removed his coat and hung it up before taking Spencer's and indicating for him to sit on the sofa. He did, never taking his eyes off Sherlock. He didn't know why he was doing this. He supposed Sherlock's intelligence was attractive to him and as was his brazen nature to ask so obscene of someone he had only just met. Plus he had never done anything like this before. At all. Something in Sherlock's behavior suggested he was similarly inexperienced in this area.

Sherlock sat down next to him. They were silent for a minute. Two minutes. Spencer felt himself go red, something that Sherlock noticed.

"We don't have to…" said the consulting detective.

"I know" answered Spencer, nodding vigorously, "I'd like to."

"Ok. Me too."

"Cool."

Cool? Cool?! Spencer had never said the word "cool" before in his life. He flinched, fearing he appeared stupid to Sherlock and said nothing more. He silence stretched on, both men becoming more and more awkward to the point that it seemed unlikely that anything would happen at all.

Suddenly, unable to bear the silence in the dark room anymore, Sherlock blurted loudly, "Would you like a cup of tea?" he heard Spencer release and audible breath of relief and say, "Yes, yes please."

Sherlock hurried to his feet, turning on a dim lamp in the room and bustling about to make tea. Spencer watched him, trying to get himself back to the place he was in when Sherlock had taken his hand at Scotland Yard. He watched the other man move, noting little things about him. His shirt sleeves, rolled to his elbows, showing pale forearms, large but narrow hands. The long neck, how the dark curls tapered at the nape. Spencer gave a small smile as Sherlock brought his tea to him.

"Thank you," he said, sitting forward to take the cup. He held it gratefully in his warm hands. "Mmm. Warm."

"Are you cold?" Asked Sherlock, suddenly concerned. Spencer was quick to shrug, not wanting to seem rude, "Oh no, I'm fine." But Sherlock had already rushed off into another room. Spencer took a sip of tea and placed his cup on an adjacent table.

Sherlock came hurrying back into the room, partially hidden y the duvet he was carrying. Spencer heard himself give a little laugh. "What are you doing?" Sherlock stumbled to the sofa, tripping slightly on the trailing duvet cover. "Well, the heating doesn't function properly so a duvet is your best bet at warming up." he sat on the sofa and threw the duvet over the two of them. Spencer smiled gratefully, pulling the duvet up. He turned away for a second before he took a deep breath and turned back with a serious face, "Sherlock, um, the last person I was… close to, got killed. In front of me." Sherlock looked at Spencer for a few seconds, trying to think of the write thing to say. "I'm sorry." he decided on, "That must have been awful." Spencer shrugged, "Yes it was. Anyway, I just thought you should know, before… before we do anything." Sherlock nodded and they were quiet again. Then, with an awkward cough, Spencer continued, "Also, I um, haven't done this before. Not just with a man. With anyone." he looked up at Sherlock, afraid that this would be a bad thing. Sherlock just smiled in a catlike way, and answered, "Neither have I. Only read how." Spencer nodded, relaxing a little, although he couldn't understand how Sherlock could admit that so casually, with no awkwardness.

They were silent again, but it was a comfortable silence this time. Sherlock was studying Spencer, taking in his brown eyes, how tired they looked and how Spencer hid behind a fall of his dark hair. How young he seemed. His small, sweet mouth, how he was nervously chewing on his bottom lip. Spencer looked up and smiled awkwardly at seeing Sherlock watching him.

"You're…very… lovely." said Sherlock, searching for the right word. The colour rose in Spencer's cheeks and all he said was, "Oh."

Sherlock flexed his fingers nervously, before reaching out a hand to push back the lock of hair Spencer was still trying to hide behind. Spencer gave a comical gasp and then after a moment of deliberation, moved forward a bit, lips parted slightly. His tongue darted anxiously over his top lip. Sherlock leaned forwards too, slowly, deliberately, but before he could close the gap between them, Spencer jerked towards Sherlock, mouth first, and their lips collided clumsily. It was an awkward kiss, a first kiss, teeth clashing, lips bitten, still sitting at least a foot apart, their mouths the only point of connection. Spencer broke it first, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. His lips were bruised, beautifully so, and his eyes sparkled. He gave a little laugh and Sherlock smiled and Spencer flowed back to him, pressing their bodies together as they kissed again.

Sherlock's hands found Spencer's face, fingertips gently holding cheeks. Spencer on the other hand, had one hand carding through Sherlock's hair, the other was wedged at the base of Sherlock's back, holding them together. Suddenly Spencer pulled away, staring at Sherlock gleefully, he let out a small snort of laughter. Sherlock wiggled and the source of Spencer's smile became apparent. Spencer gasped as Sherlock pressed his hips against Spencer's, the sources of their pleasure meeting. "Oh gosh." Said Spencer in such a voice of wonder that Sherlock laughed. "yes, I think this is good. A sign we should continue, I say." Sherlock wrapped a hand around Spencer's back and rolled his hips again, eliciting a quiet groan from both men. Spencer let his head fall into the crook of Sherlock's neck as they continued to roll and press against each other.

Sherlock didn't know how much time had passed when Spencer laboriously pulled away and sat up, "Wait. Wait. There's something I want to try." His hands, shaking slightly, slid down Sherlock's front to the waistband of his trousers. Spencer looked up at Sherlock. "Can I?" he asked. Sherlock, whose face was now very serious, nodded. Hands still shaking, Spencer unbuttoned Sherlock's fly. At the sound of his zip being pulled down, Sherlock let out a heavy breath. Spencer pulled down Sherlock's trousers and underwear in one go and then hesitated, faced with something he never had been before.

Spencer took a breath and opened his mouth but Sherlock put his hand on his cheek to stop him. "You don't have to." he said, voice strained. Spencer smiled and took Sherlock's hand in his own. Then he turned his eyes back to business. He licked his lips and then experimentally stuck out his tongue and ran it over Sherlock, who gasped. Spencer looked up at him, a string of salty stickiness in his mouth. "Ok?" he asked. Sherlock just about nodded. "Yes. Very." Spencer went back to Sherlock's groin, hands running over the area, feeling the heat, the course hair, exploring. Sherlock let out an accidental noise of frustration so Spencer calmly lowered his head and engulfed him.

Sherlock let out a long low moan as Spencer slowly, moved his mouth on him, turning his head, moving his tongue, one hand holding his brown hair out of his eyes so he could look up at Sherlock's face. Sherlock was watching Spencer's deep brown eyes as his sweet mouth slid up an down on him. "Ah." he said, clearly trying to articulate something. Spencer pulled away and crawled up him, kissing as he went. "What is it?" he asked after kissing him deeply, aroused at making Sherlock taste himself. "I want you in my mouth too." said Sherlock and felt an animal pleasure when he saw Spencer's eyes darken with want.

Sherlock slid down the sofa slightly while pulling Spencer up onto his knees, until his face was level with the crotch of Spencer's pants. Sherlock leaned forward and affectionately nuzzled Spencer between the legs. Spencer doubled over, a gasp leaving his mouth and Sherlock took the opportunity to quickly unbutton Spencer's trousers and pull them down just enough for him to open his mouth and take as much of Spencer in as fast as he could, as hard as he could. Spencer cried out as Sherlock pumped back and forth, his hands holding Spencer's hips. Sherlock pulled on Spencer's hips, encouraging him to thrust hard and fast into his mouth. Spencer's voice, high and gasping, only just quiet enough, rang through the living room.

Sherlock reached up a hand and pressed his fingers to Spencer's lips. Spencer gladly opened his mouth and began to suck Sherlock's fingers, tongue tracing down between them. Sherlock could tell that Spencer was getting close so he slowly and carefully pulled the other man's pants down further. He then took his hand from Spencer's mouth and reached around behind him with his wet fingers. Spencer gasped and twitched as he felt Sherlock pressing against him. He looked down at Sherlock who was already looking up at him, and nodded.

Sherlock pushed a slick finger into Spencer, who let out a choking sound and tightened around him. Slowly, Sherlock finger fucked Spencer, who was gasping again and who had gone still, letting Sherlock do the work, front and back. Spencer let out a breath and a shudder as Sherlock pushed a second finger in. He was silent for a second before raggedly whispering, "Are you gonna…." Sherlock looked up at the face above him, messy hair, sweaty, eyes unfocused. "I'd like to. But only if you want-" Spencer interrupted, nodding feverishly, "Yes, now. Please."

Nodding, not breaking eye contact, Sherlock carefully slid his fingers out and slowly guided Spencer down. The mewling sound Spencer made as Sherlock slowly slid into him made the consulting detective's skin burn all over. Sherlock stilled once he was all the way in, afraid of hurting the younger man, but it was Spencer who moved first, experimentally rocking up and back down again, once. Both men moaned at this single movement and Spencer reached out and took Sherlock's hand, guiding it between his legs. Sherlock eagerly wrapped his hand around Spencer and encouraged by his touch, Spencer made a sweet chirping sound and began to move in Sherlock's lap.

Sherlock groaned and grabbed hold of Spencer's hip with one hand, guiding him as he rocked up and down, head thrown back, mouth hanging open. Sherlock pumped his hand in time with his thrusts and Spencer cried out every time. Spencer reached out and grabbed both of Sherlock's shoulders, upping his pace, and his volume. Sherlock tried to shush him but Spencer was gone, thrusting hard into Sherlock's hand with a cry and cumming over his fist. As the younger man tightened around him, Sherlock threw back his head with a gasp and with one final thrust he came inside Spencer, hot and fast.

Twitching, Spencer fell forward onto Sherlock's chest, and lay there. Sherlock smiled sleepily and put his arms around Spencer, holding him.

"I'm warm now." said Spencer.

"Oh yes?" asked Sherlock. "Stands to reason. Physical activity warms you up."

Spencer chuckled and snuggled against Sherlock, who pulled the duvet over the both of them. They both fell asleep quickly, warm in each other's arms.

The next morning, John Watson found them like that, intertwined on the sofa, the room smelling of sex. He took a bite of toast, scratched his head and shrugged before going into the kitchen to put the kettle on. These days, nothing Sherlock did surprised him anymore.


End file.
